The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel
by Frosted Failure
Summary: Rumplestiltskin and his wife, Belle, are partners in one of the world's most renowned magical consulting firms. During an investigation of an abandoned hotel where visitors seem to vanish into thin air, Belle herself goes missing, and she and Rumple have to find a way to get themselves out of the ensuing trouble before it's too late. (AU)
1. Prologue

_**The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel**_

_Prologue_

_Click. Click. Clack._

The sound of her footsteps echoed through the long hallway, each thud of her heel betraying loose boards, worn polish, and the general decay of the hardwood floor. The chandeliers that hung above her head were covered in dust, thick cobwebs draping from crystal to chain, allowing for barely any light to reflect from the lamp she carried.

Dozens of photos filled her camera's memory card, and she took even more now as she neared a set of double doors with peeling paint, setting the lamp on a nearby table to allow for a better grip as she adjusted the focus to properly capture the shape of the keyholes beneath each doorknob. The air around her stirred ever so slightly as she stood in front of those doors, not enough to rustle the brown curls that fell around her shoulders, but enough to make the growing chill all too noticeable.

Belle Gold stepped back from the doors, allowing herself to see reason instead of jumping headfirst into the adventure that might await in the next room. This trip was just for reconnaissance, nothing more; she had made a promise to both Rumple and Baelfire that she would wait for one of them before delving too far into the hotel's mysteries. After what had happened the last time she'd wandered off on her own, she really couldn't blame them for worrying so much. So instead of pursuing the intriguing cold spot that could mean any number of delightfully interesting things, she simply marked it on the building plans she carried in her bag and moved on to the next hall.

She stuck to the rooms on the outer edges of the hotel, the ones with doors already standing open and windows so caked with dust the lamp really was necessary to make out details in the wallpaper and furniture. Every possible hint of activity was carefully marked for later review until she'd finally ended up back in the palatial lobby with its opulent furnishings and lavish carpet. Belle stopped at the marble-topped main desk, her curiosity itching to investigate the ledger that lay open there, as if waiting expressly for her arrival. A feeling of foreboding wrapped around her as her hand hovered over the yellowed pages, the sense of icy fingers curling around her heart as the afternoon sun glinted off the stone in her wedding band.

_No_. She needed to leave, now. She'd made a promise and she would keep it.

It was only when she reached the front doors and found them locked that she realized it was already too late. There was a frantic scratching at the back of her mind as every inch of her screamed to _run, get away from this place_, and dread filled her lungs like cold water and made it hard to breathe. Too late. Much too late. If only she'd listened…

"Madam? You forgot your key."


	2. Chapter One: The Missing Wife

**_The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel_**

_Chapter One: The Missing Wife_

Four days. It had been four goddamned days since he'd last heard from his wife and he hadn't even noticed. Bae had warned him about getting too absorbed in his work, pointing out that Belle was even worse about checking in with her team and that she needed him to pull her out of her little focused world so she didn't do anything stupid. Doing stupid things for idiotic reasons had always been Belle's modus operandi, though, and Rumplestiltskin was loathe to admit that, a good deal of the time, his wife actually achieved wonderful results with her methods.

This had _better_ be one of those times, because the more he read through her research, the more worried he grew. There were pages upon pages of historical data on the hotel within Belle's account on the firm's private server, and it wasn't difficult to see why his wife had been so intrigued by the location – over the past twenty years or so, at least sixteen people had gone missing on the property. It was after the ninth disappearance that the hotel had closed, nearly a decade earlier, but people still visited the deserted building to admire the way everything had been left where it was, as if staff and guests alike would soon be returning to pick up where they'd left off. The place had become a hot spot for urban exploration, attracting the sort of people who wandered around abandoned amusement parks or factories that had been shut down and left standing; the rumors of the premises being haunted only added fuel to the fire and an appeal for the ghost hunting sort as well.

_The strangest part of it all seems to be the complete lack of official investigation by any credible authority. When people go missing, especially in such large numbers in a centralized area, the logical next step is to look into what might be causing said disappearances, but all efforts to bring about such an investigation by the families of those missing have been ineffectual._

Rumplestiltskin could practically hear his wife's voice as he read over the words she'd written just days earlier, and it made his hear clench with new worry. "How much longer?" he tersely demanded of his driver, closing the laptop with a heavy snap.

The man at the front of the luxury car met the sorcerer's eyes in the mirror and swallowed thickly. "It's just up ahead, sir," he answered with what might be considered a steady voice. Mr. Gold wasn't usually so tense on these trips; something was off about this whole thing, and the driver was just glad there was a clause in his contract that, were he to be transfigured into anything non-human, the company would ensure his physical restoration within 48 hours.

Strained silence filled the car as they drove through the sleepy little town, a steely gaze watching the passing surroundings with suspicion. It seemed too perfect, too _wholesome_ and clean, and with a name like Storybrooke… Rumplestiltskin tried calling Belle's cell phone for perhaps the hundredth time as they pulled to a stop at nondescript establishment. The sign proclaimed it as "Granny's Bed and Breakfast"; he scowled at the grey and white building, swearing that no law, magical or otherwise, would protect these people if they'd had anything to do with his beloved's disappearance.

As with every other time he'd chanced to try, his call was greeted by Belle's chipper voicemail message. The phone was returned to his pocket, the laptop to its bag, and he popped open the door. The moment he stepped from the car, he could feel the magic in the air. Old magic, strong, but nothing more than an echo reverberating off the trees surrounding the town, seeping into the waters of the nearby shore. It was so distinctive, he could almost taste the difference in its flavor, despite the years that had worn it down to almost nothing. And there, just below the surface, was the tang of something new, something that gave him hope that this might end quickly so he could have Belle back in his arms where she belonged.

Hoisting the laptop bag onto his shoulder, he took the leather overnight bag from his driver with a dismissing nod before stepping into the B&B. Whatever he had been expecting of the place, this certainly wasn't it. The drab colors continued in from the outside, mingling with the dust that covered the light fixtures and desk. A china cabinet to the left held nothing of interest, and the number of keys handing from their assigned spots behind the counter confirmed the observation that the inn didn't get many visitors.

"Can I help you?" an elderly woman asked, suddenly appearing from a back room, no doubt alerted to his arrival by the astoundingly loud creak of the door. This must be Granny herself; she certainly fit Belle's description of being someone you didn't mess with lightly.

Leaning heavily on his cane as he set down the overnight bag, Rumplestiltskin replied, "Yes, I called yesterday enquiring about my wife, Belle Gold…"

"Mr. Gold!" Granny almost looked flustered, as if she had forgotten the half hour conversation that had been half him ranting and half her arguing right back. "Of course. Here's your key, I'll take you upstairs." She even carried his bag for him; an old woman carrying the bag of a magical cripple. He was in just the mood to allow it.

He waited until she'd retreated upstairs to open the door to the room, and it proved to be a sound decision. The smell of roses hit him as soon as he was through the doorway, causing a falter in his step as his vision swam with tears. She wasn't here. She really was gone, no trace of her own psychic signature to be found for at least three days past. And yet, all of her possessions were still scattered about the place, a charming clutter of bright colors, books, and loose papers littered with her scrolling handwriting.

She was out there somewhere, and he would find her, even if it killed him.

**III**

_Note: The response for this has been unbelievable! I started this on a whim and people have really taken to it. Thank you so much for all the encouragement, it means more than I can say!_


	3. Chapter Two: The Awakened Psychic

**_The Golds and the Strange Case of the Strand Hotel_**

_Chapter Two: The Awakened Psychic_

_Briiiiiiing. Briiiiiiing. _

The shrill ringing cut through the fog in her mind, ripping open a path through the murky depths of unconsciousness long enough for Belle to flail and somehow manage to grab the offending telephone and pull the receiver over to press against her ear. She managed a garbled "Hello" in greeting, her eyes still closed against what she vaguely perceived to be a bright light.

"Good morning, madam," a pleasant male voice said, a slight static coming over the line. "This is your complimentary wake-up call. We at the Strand Hotel wish you the best of luck today."

Belle frowned and tried to force her body to sit up, but it wasn't cooperating, feeling like she'd just run a marathon and dropped in exhaustion. "Luck?" she questioned in confusion, opening her eyes and blinking repeatedly to get her vision to clear.

"Yes, madam. You're going to need it." There was a click and the line went dead.

The world finally focused enough for her to replace the elegantly old-fashioned white phone on its hook, still staring at the device without understanding what had just happened. Wake-up call? Best of luck? What was he talking about?

Glancing around the room, she found herself becoming even more puzzled by her surroundings. It appeared to be a luxurious hotel room, with crisp whites and soft creams accented by soft greens; the bed she was in was lush with its fluffy comforter and plump pillows, cozy enough to make her want to go right back to sleep. But it was wrong. It was _all_ wrong. Why was she sleeping? Why was she in this room, in the bed and in… the clothes she'd worn the morning she went to investigate the Strand Hotel.

She threw the covers back and lunged from the bed, stumbling against the desk on the far wall and having to grab the back of the chair to stay upright. The room spun as she struggled to think. How had she gotten here? Who had put her in the bed? They'd even thought to take off her shoes… She tried to clutch at her head, as if that would help the spinning, and suddenly realized she was holding something in her left hand. How had she not noticed before? It was difficult to uncurl her fingers from around the ornate skeleton key with the number 407 inscribed on one side. This had to be the room she was in. So there was one question answered, only two hundred and twelve to go.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the desk, she smoothed down the hairs that had come loose from her side ponytail, and tried to tug out the wrinkles in her light blue dress, to very little avail. She gave up after a moment, deeming present circumstances much more pressing than her state of appearance, and instead went in search of her shoes. The bedroom turned out to be attached to a living area and sprawling bathroom, all decorated in the same rich style. Her shoes waited in the main room beside a door that she guessed would lead to the rest of the hotel; her small backpack rested on a chair there as well, the supple caramel-colored matching her tall, heeled boots – both had been custom made for her as gifts from her husband.

_Rumple._

Just the thought of her sweet sorcerer sent a spike of pain through her chest. Oh, how she'd wished she'd listened to him.

She laced up the boots, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the hall without another thought of how much she missed the love of her life and wished he were right there beside her. All thoughts of Rumplestiltskin would have fled her mind in the next second, regardless, as she drank in the dereliction that was blatantly apparent in this part of the hotel, despite having been completely missing from her room. She glanced back into the sparklingly clean room, then to the dusty, cobweb-covered hall; it was as stark a contrast as night and day, and made very little sense. In fact, just seeing them side by side was enough to make her head hurt, so Belle took a deep breath and turned away, pulling the door shut behind her. She could deal with room 407 later.

There were electric lights lining the walls in old-fashioned sconces, reflecting the hotel's décor that was a mix of early 20th and 21st century high society. Things that were supposed to be bright and shining and softly elegant were decaying from years of disuse. Everything here matched what she had seen in her initial exploration of the first level of the hotel; only her room seemed to be living in the past. She passed numbers 406, 405, 404… Each door was locked, and no amount of force could get them to budge. She even tried the key she still clutched in her left hand, but that avenue failed her as well.

Something had been bothering her since she left her assigned room (other than the obvious strange circumstances in which she presently found herself), something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but once she was standing in front of an elevator with a rusty call button, the realization nearly smacked her in the face. The electricity! When she'd first entered the hotel, she'd had to use flashlights and camping lamps just to see where to put her feet, the windows were so caked with dirt and grime. But here, in the middle of the expansive fourth floor, there were no windows in sight, but she could still see because of the lights on the walls and ceiling, even with the dust that clung to their surfaces. Belle could hear the buzz of the electricity running through the walls, the sound easily discernable in the otherwise silent building.

Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle.

And all of it was somehow related to magic. She honestly didn't know if this was the simple haunting she had originally assumed; too many things didn't add up, there was more here than psychological trickery and she could taste the magic on the air, the way Rumple had taught her to discern it from the rest of her surroundings. The inaudible hum of it tingled on her fingertips, and she had no doubt that were a magical anchor available, she would be able to watch the energy dance through the building with her Sight. But she was alone, and even with her high level of ability, she didn't dare take that risk – it would be akin to jumping off a diving board without making sure there was water in the pool below.

Belle would just have to rely on her investigative skills to unearth what was really going on here, and hope she was quick enough to avoid catastrophe. Her husband would be arriving soon, and he would bring the entire building down if that were what it took to find her.

**III**

_This chapter is dedicated to _beeeinyourbonnet_ and _almostvivian_ over on tumblr, who have been really enthusiastic about this project. Thanks, you two. You've inspired me to keep this thing going! _


	4. Chapter Three: The Investigating Sorcere

_Chapter Three: The Investigating Sorcerer_

Rumplestiltskin had always been aware his wife was inclined to take copious amounts of notes while working on a case, but he's apparently forgotten that it often resulted in novel-length materials over anything and everything that might prove relevant to their resolution. He rubbed at his forehead in frustration as he turned yet another page, his eyes drinking in his beloved's curled handwriting as she recalled everything she'd learned about the inhabitants of Storybrooke, whether they had been part of the string of disappearances or not. He read about everyone who worked at the sheriff's station (all three of them), the assortment of teachers at the high school (one of which had been helpful in providing local history all the way back to the town's founding), and the seven men who were part of the town's bowling league (he didn't know much about bowling, but seven seemed a bit unusual number for a league). It wasn't until he reached the pages on community disappearances that he found a name he recognized – Martha "Granny" Lucas – and one he didn't – Ruby Lucas, the most recent Storybrooke citizen to vanish into thin air.

A photograph of the young Ms. Lucas was paper clipped to the section detailing the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, everything Belle had learned about Ruby and her boyfriend, Gus, who had also gone missing. She wrote about how authorities seemed to think there was no foul play, just two young people running off to be irresponsible, but Granny was adamant that Ruby would never do such a thing. Even with all their disagreements during the girl's teenage years, her grandmother firmly believed that she would never abandon her family without so much as a word to let loved ones know she was safe. In truth, Rumplestiltskin would have likely agreed with the authorities' assumption had it not been for Belle's instinct that Granny was right and the same thing had happened to Ruby that happened to all the others who had disappeared over the years. His wife was one of the strongest psychics in the country, and he had learned to trust her instincts implicitly.

Gathering up the few files he hadn't fully perused, he exited the quaint little room, leaving his luggage behind, and went in search of Granny's Diner, in hopes of finding both some lunch and the woman herself. He was not disappointed on either front as he took a seat in a booth at the back corner. While admiring (if you could call it that) the rather interesting choice of wallpaper, a young woman with blonde hair and a nametag brought him a menu; she wrote his order of a burger and iced tea on one of those pads of paper every waitress in America seemed to possess before turning to hand it to Granny herself. The elderly woman read what her employee had written, frowned, and looked around the room until her eyes landed on his booth.

It was a strange interaction, to be sure. Unless the girl had written that a stranger in town had placed the order, there should have been nothing to arouse any sort of particular interest. He pushed the matter from his mind and set to examining the rest of his wife's notes while he waited for his lunch to arrive. He was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice right away when the food was placed in front of him, but before it had cooled he'd added his ketchup and started eating, careful to wipe his fingers clean before turning pages – Belle would have his head if he got her notes messy; he still hadn't lived down the last time it happened.

When the plate had been cleaned and his glass refilled twice, he became aware of someone standing beside the table; glancing up, he was only slightly surprised to see Granny wearing an uncertain expression. He eyed her for a moment, then set aside the papers and sat back in his seat. "Would you care to sit?" he offered with a wave of his hand, judging that he had guessed her purpose correctly when a visible wave of relief cascaded over her.

"Thank you," she said somewhat stiffly, sliding into the seat across from him. "Mr. Gold, I was hoping to talk with you about—"

"Your granddaughter," he interrupted. "Yes, I know. My wife keeps very detailed notes of her investigations," he set a hand on the stack of papers beside him, "so I'm well aware of the situation."

"Then you know the sheriff is an imbecile who refuses to do anything to find her," she said. At his nod of confirmation, she continued, "On the phone, you said your wife was missing too now. Do you think she's with my Ruby?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Are they dead, Mr. Gold? Should I be preparing to bury my granddaughter the way I did my daughter?"

Rumplestiltskin's countenance hardened. "Mrs. Lucas, I know for a fact that my wife is _not_ dead, merely trapped somewhere I have yet to find. We have no reason to believe your granddaughter will be any different."

Granny stared at him with a piercing gaze both hopeful and suspicious. "_Will_ you find them?"

"Even if it kills me," he swore, as one worried loved one to another. It was miraculous, the change that came over the woman as she stood and straightened her sweater. Hope, real hope for probably the first time in weeks. She knew his reputation, and if anyone could find her girl, it was Rumplestiltskin Gold.

"Lunch is on the house," she told him with a nod, beginning to turn away and then stopping. "Your wife ordered the same thing, you know. She said it was her favorite meal because it reminded her of her husband." And with that she continued on, disappearing through a door behind the counter.

His throat tightened uncomfortably as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye: his Belle sitting up at the counter, being friendly and chatting with everyone around her while eating her own hamburger. It was always the same when they traveled together, they would find a restaurant and try their burger specials and varieties of iced teas, comparing them with other establishments in both quality of food and décor. The tradition had started on their honeymoon, as a way to reenact their first date, and it made his heart ache to think that she would have ordered it here in this place in order to feel closer to him. He should have _been_ here, maybe then she wouldn't—

The sorcerer shook his head, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. He couldn't afford to think of the past when there was work to be done and his Belle was waiting for him.

Four hours later, Rumplestiltskin had seen the whole of Storybrooke and spoken with everyone on Belle's list of those connected to the disappearances. His impressions of them dovetailed with Belle's, and it was good to have her insight to reference during the interviews. His wife had always been so much better at dealing with people thanks to her gift; experience told him to expect the worst of humanity, while Belle's abilities let her see the good shining through it all.

He was stepping out of the local drugstore when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. The name displayed on the screen made him sigh in relief, though his voice was strained as he answered with, "It's about time, where are you?"

"I just got to the inn you said Belle was staying at," his son answered, not taking any sort of offense at his father's tone as his own was laced with worry. "Where are _you_?"

"Around the corner. I'll meet you there." Cursing his old injury the entire way, Rumplestiltskin hurried down the street, his cane thudding along the sidewalk and alerting his son as he neared.

Baelfire straightened from where he'd been leaning against his car, welcoming his father's embrace. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

"It's alright, son," the sorcerer said, his smile broad but tinged with sadness. "You're here now, that's what matters."

Taking his father's bag from him, Bae opened the passenger door and said, "Let's go find this wayward stepmother of mine."

The Strand Hotel was twenty minutes up the coast from the little town of Storybrooke, and even with the overgrown vegetation surrounding the dingy building it was easy to see that it had once been the pinnacle of luxury. It sat high above the rocky shore that gave the hotel its name, looking as imposing a figure as they had ever seen. There was no sign of Belle anywhere they could see outside the building, not even a trace of her car, which they both agreed was strange but not unheard of. If some force was taking people for a reason, it certainly wouldn't do to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind. And yet that same odd combination of magic was here, much stronger than the faint remnants he'd found in the town, almost as if someone had painted the magic into the walls, layering it like new coats of color over the old. The combined taste of it all was repulsive, and he was glad his son wouldn't have to endure it as well.

Dusk was upon them as they gathered their equipment, Bae shouldering a heavy-looking backpack and handing his father only a flashlight – they both understood that Rumplestiltskin needed to be as unhindered as possible so he could take necessary action at a moment's notice. Once again, his son proved to be ready for anything, with the flashlights, a crowbar, and lock picking tools stashed in the large pack. There was even a sledgehammer stored in the trunk, just in case they met any real resistance inside.

It took hours to explore even a fraction of the hotel, having to jimmy open doors and avoid questionable sections of flooring while still being as thorough as possible. It helped that Bae had brought along one of his team's latest creations: a tracking program that recorded their movements and essentially mapped everywhere they had been, even registering when they went up to a different flight. The information was then overlaid with the existing building plans on file (to show their scant progress) and automatically uploaded to the firm's servers. Though it was still in the beta development stage, it was quite a fantastic creation, and Rumplestiltskin found himself rather proud of his son for the accomplishment. To this day, even after years of marriage, it never ceased to amaze him just how much Belle had done for his relationship with his son; it was a gift he would never be able to repay, though he would never stop trying.

It was when they had looped back around to the lobby that Rumplestiltskin first felt a glimmer of something. That taste of magic was accompanied by a cloying smell of something sickeningly sweet that he couldn't quite place, and as he shone the flashlight around the spacious room, the very air seemed to vibrate around them, though he couldn't _see_ anything to cause or be affected by it.

And then he heard it.

Her scream, his Belle, her voice so very far away, just an echo at the back of his mind.

_Rumplestiltskin!_


End file.
